


We Might Blame The Gods (Or Ourselves)

by castiel_ambrose



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt No Comfort, In a very small way, M/M, Reunions, Star-crossed, Whump, takes place before finding myrrine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiel_ambrose/pseuds/castiel_ambrose
Summary: Now he was sorry for having thought he could just leave Mykonos and Thaletas, for taking those steps to bring himself here. But he didn’t say that.“Bruised, bloody, or broken.” The meaning was clear as Alexios crouched into a fighting stance, something not feeling completely right in his body as he did. But Thaletas understood. He gave a barely there nod and mirrored the position.“Never hold back.”Prompt fill on tumblr!
Relationships: Alexios/Thaletas (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	We Might Blame The Gods (Or Ourselves)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer on the fic: I'm not a historian, so I might have gotten very minute facts that google and the wiki didn't cover wrong, I apologize! Enjoy otherwise!

Every Spartan boy, from the time he was old enough to hold a spear, trained in the _agoge_. Every boy knew it was to make Sparta stronger. Your body was meant to be perfect. Your mind was always meant to be sharp, hungry, focused on the next battle. You would come home with your shield, or on it. You fought honorably, yes, but on the battlefield you were ruthless, uncaring, cold.

While Alexios wasn’t a Spartan anymore, hadn’t been since his ‘execution’ nearly two decades ago, for as long as he could remember the battlefield had welcomed him. Perhaps it truly was something left over in him from his time in Sparta. It was dull but still very much there,

He had no problem with Athenians, personally; they were generous with payment, after all. They trusted him, they paid him, and the mercenary Sparta had chosen to side with was part of the Cult. Cutting off one head of _that_ snake? That would simply make his day among all other things.

The weather was fair and unforgiving, even though the terrain was hard and unforgiving as Alexios fell onto it more time than he would like care to admit. The cultist had a brutal bludgeon with blunted, short points. It had hit Alexios square in his stomach in a way that had him nearly doubling over, and again on his left arm, but Alexios was able to kill him with more than a bit of agility that winded him just slightly. 

He heard the rocks shift behind him just behind him, more like pebbles, and without even thinking he raised his freshly bloodied sword to face his would-be assailant. Adrenaline was still fresh as it sped through his veins, but he felt a chill as he took in the man in front of him, a chill that had nothing to do with a change in wind.

“Thaletas.”

“Eagle-Bearer.” Thaletas’ voice was… He couldn’t say it was soft, because how could a voice be soft where they were? When two people were doing what they were doing? He stood across from Alexios, a sword in one hand and a painted Spartan shield in the other, a general’s shield. ‘It suited him’, Alexios allowed himself to think, before he forced himself to go blank.

“You’re the _polemarch_.”

“And you’re the Athenian mercenary.” Thaletas responded instead of answering. “I’m sorry.”

And oh, Alexios had only been truly sorry a few times in his life. He had been sorry for leaving Phoibe. He had been sorry for not being able to save his sister from falling off that mountain and into the hands of the Cult. But now? Now he was sorry for having thought he could just leave Mykonos and Thaletas, for taking those steps to bring himself here. But he didn’t say that.

“Bruised, bloody, or broken.” The meaning was clear as Alexios crouched into a fighting stance, something not feeling completely right in his body as he did. But Thaletas understood. He gave a barely there nod and mirrored the position.

“Never hold back.”

* * *

The last time they had fought at those ruins felt like ages ago. But back then, it had been in some weird, fantastic fun. Some warriors courtship they both acknowledged and agreed to. There had been no goal there to hurt for real, to kill. But now? Thaletas had no words. 

Back and forth it went, with clashes of steel and sparks flying where metal connected. The battle raged around them both but Thaletas paid it no mind, too concerned with the firebrand of a _misthios_ in front of him. Those deep brown eyes, which once used to look at him with a sort of smug pride and soft adoration, now burned with an intensity from Ares himself. His mouth was hardened into a sort of sneer. There was determination etched into every line on his face. He looked every inch the demigod that the stories had said. And yet… Thaletas couldn’t help but wish they were still side by side.

It was one move that he saw, one misstep in Alexios’ footwork that Thaletas took his chance. Fatigue hung on both of their bones, but the mercenary they had hired had gotten to Alexios first. Thaletas sidestepped as Alexios moved and sent him sprawling into the ground. Alexios tried to turn around onto his back to get up but Thaletas’ sword was pointed straight at his face.

“It’s over, Alexios.” Thaletas spoke as confidently as he could, even if it was more so than he felt. Their chests heaved and he watched the blood and mud stained face of his opponent hide how much it was starting to sink in. _Defiant until the end_. This was the man who had defeated an Athenian blockade, had won over islands and killed leaders in their own household, seemingly by himself. You didn’t get that far by surrender. But he had no choice in this manner.

“Spartans don’t take prisoners.” Alexios finally made it out. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Exceptions can always be made.” As the surroundings came back, Thaletas realized that even as they spoke, the battle was almost over. Athenians were beginning the retreat, or they were being slaughtered on spears and swords. They had failed to take the land, but they would come back, of course. There was little doubt about that. But Thaletas would likely be gone by then. His concerns were of the here and now; and, against his better judgement, he needed to do something with the _misthios_ at his feet.

 _“Polemarch_!” A soldier came running up as if he could read Thaletas’ mind. “What must be done now?”

“Assess the living, their conditions. Those who are dead of our army, I want them and their equipment brought back to camp with us. And…” He trailed off and put his attention back on Alexios, who had gone uncharacteristically silent. Thaletas quickly saw why in the way he tried to hide how he cradled his stomach, even as he held onto defiance the way a man trying not to fall holds onto a fraying rope. “Take this one back to the camp as well. He was employed by the Athenians. Perform aid on him and bring him and everything he owns to my tent when finished.”

“Yes, _polemarch_.” There was a question that thankfully that did not make it past the soldiers lips as he turned on heel and left.

“All of Sparta would weep at how soft you’ve turned.” Alexios murmured, but there was no real malice or bitterness directed at anyone that Thaletas could tell.

“Perhaps.” Thaletas said, and nothing more was said before eventually more soldiers came and picked Alexios up, dragging him to his feet. Thaletas walked away. Overhead, in the clouds, an eagle with golden feathers was starting to cry out.

* * *

Spartans were nothing if not efficient, Alexios quickly learned as he was handed over from soldier to soldier through the march and through the camp for his wounds to be tended. As soon as everything from the fight had begun to wear off, he could feel the bruises and pain set in up and down his body, extending even towards the outside of his spear arm where he’d been hit. It wasn’t broken, but even if it was they likely wouldn’t have cared. 

They took his weapons and grandfather’s spear and quickly bound his hands in front of him before marching him over to Thaletas’ tent. It was larger on the inside, but spare, with a place for his armor, a makeshift desk with a map in the center of the tent, and a single bed in the corner. Nothing fancy, nothing more than what he needed. Very Spartan, and very much what Alexios remembered of Thaletas and his life on Mykonos.

They were left alone as Thaletas dismissed the soldiers, and soon it was just them in the candle lit tent. Thaletas sat at his desk, Alexios barely able to hold on as he stood in front of him. He was stripped bare and defenseless despite his armor, knowing very well that there was a chance that if he left this tent, it would be as a corpse. Their eyes met and their gazes held each other. It was finally Alexios who broke the silence.

“Why did you bring me here? You could have, you _should_ have, left me on that field.”

“You had been working with the Athenians. Any information you have would be useful.” The reply was smooth, immediate, and practiced.

“You know as well as I do the Athenians wouldn’t tell me anything. And you can’t hold me as a prisoner of war. Luxuries such as that don’t apply to those of my trade.”

“And your ‘trade’,” Thaletas’ voice was quiet, but seemed to hold an air of almost… disgust at the word, “has led you here to a Spartan general's tent as a captive, bound and injured.”

“Sometimes these things happen.”

“How can you stand to be so calm at a time like this?” Thaletas finally stood up from his desk. “Alexios, do you realize how much it pains me to be here? For us to be where we are? After everything we shared…” Gods, the pain in his chest was greater than any spear or sword that could pierce him.

“You chose Sparta. You chose _Kyra_. A Spartan general, are you not? You made a choice as much as I did.”

“And I have lived in regret of that choice everyday. Ever since I have just kept thinking that there was something I could say differently to bring you back to Sparta with me.”

“Don’t do this now, Thaletas, I’m begging you.” Alexios shut his eyes and had to will his breathing to slow down. His hands clenched and he felt the strain of the rope around his wrists, trying to remind himself where he was, that this wasn’t that night. He couldn’t fall for these sweet words again, couldn’t reach out to pull Thaletas closer and destroy any semblance of where they each began and ended like he wanted to.

“I can grant you leniency, Alexios. You can say you have defected. And once we are free to leave these shores, I will take you back to Sparta, work for you to be under me.”

“You don’t even know the whole story.”

“Then tell it to me. We never… We never spoke as we said we would.”

“It’s a long story. Not one I can just give freely.”

Thaletas went quiet again. He studied Alexios’ face before leaving and going for his armor. Alexios didn’t realize what it was until Thaletas began cutting at the ropes with a dagger. He was free quickly but didn’t know what to do with himself, somehow.

“I have time.”

Alexios knew he likely didn’t have a choice. But this time, he didn’t want to refuse.

* * *

They sat on the bed, hunched over the edge, and Thaletas stared at Alexios as the other stared resolutely at the ground and told his story. The general had never forgotten Alexios’ face, nor its subtleties. The scars decorating it, the beginnings of a beard that Alexios never let grow into anything else. The way his nose curved to the side, crooked from where it had been broken a few too many times. Now he learned things he never thought he would learn, or need to learn.

He learned that when Alexios was nervous, he clenched his hands together and interlocked the fingers. 

He learned that when Alexios was in pain, he paled and became a smaller version of himself, a way to not be so much of a target; like an animal in the wild.

Most importantly, Thaletas learned Alexios’ life. Learned about Mount Taygetos. About his execution. His legacy and the search for family. And he learned just how strong Alexios truly was.

The moon was well in the the sky when Alexios finally ceased, having run out of story to tell.

“I don’t know what to say.” Thaletas finally made out, quietly.

“You don’t need to say anything.” Alexios spoke with the same volume. “Just understand. I can’t go back to Sparta, Thaletas. Not now, if ever.”

“You said that on Mykonos. I thought… I thought it was a lust for adventure that had been put into your heart through a curse. Something to take you and keep you from me.” He found a humorless chuckle springing forth from his lips. “Had I known instead…”

A smirk barely twitched the corner of Alexios’ lips upward before he went stone faced again, still staring at the ground. “My mother is out there, Thaletas. As is my sister. Maybe… Perhaps one day, truly one day, I will step foot on Spartan shores. Perhaps you will be there as well. But until that time…”

Thaletas knew what was coming next. But his mind had been made up from the start about what he was to do. He stood from his bed, striding over to the other end of his tent, and picked up the sack of Alexios’ belongings and weapons. The _misthios_ looked confused, with nervousness just barely there in his eyes even as he stood and accepted the items.

“The back of the tent is unstrung and loose. Leave through there. I will make an excuse for your escape. Your bird is likely nearby waiting for you anyway.”

“It’s not too late. Come with me. You will be safe on my ship, with my crew.” Alexios spoke, but both they knew it was in vain. He had given this offer once, it would not be taken the second time. 

“I have my men to look after. And you… You have your family to find. Take care, Alexios. Truly. May the Gods bless every step you take, my…” There were no words to complete that sentence. But he didn’t need them. The meaning was clear. Alexios nodded his understanding and his thanks.

“I’m sorry about earlier. On the battlefield, it was a rush, I thought you-”

“I felt it too. But you had it right. Bruised, bloody, broken.”

“Never hold back.” Alexios whispered and nodded once more, moving to brush past Thaletas. He paused in his tracks and turned, meeting Thaletas’ eyes for the briefest of seconds before leaning in and brushing their lips together. There was promise there, Thaletas felt it in his bones. A small, quiet promise that they would meet again, whether in this life or in the next. It was something gentle in a life and a world where they weren’t guaranteed such things.

“Stay safe.” Thaletas whispered, and Alexios nodded once before turning and hurrying away out the back of his tent as best as he could. Thaletas knew there would be explaining. Some of his men might have known who Alexios was from Mykonos. Some might even have a thought of their time together. But he would take care of that in the morning. But now, for the night… his bed looked cold and empty. As it had for what felt like ages now. 

_Dear Gods, Alexios. Return safely. Return to me._ Thaletas prayed to the only thing he cared to pray to at this point before putting out the candles in his tent.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't do angst like this all that often, I really really do hope you enjoyed! (And the pain wasn't too bad)
> 
> If you did happen to like this, please leave a comment or a kudos; it would make my day! To make it even brighter, bounce by my [tumblr](https://straight-into-the-animus.tumblr.com/) where I'm always taking new prompt ideas (Thalexios or otherwise, I'm even happy to pop out headcanons or short ficlets) or always open for a chat! Thank you and have an amazing day! Safety and peace!


End file.
